


February the Fourteenth

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Art gallery fluff, But not like on Etherea, F/M, First Date, Fluff and Smut, Modern AU, Oblivious Clarke, Pining Bellamy, Pizza Fluff, THEY STILL ARE, Valentine's Day, but now they're sexy roommates too, fluff and second-hand pining and smut, in which Clarke sees the light, sceptical Clarke, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Written for 100 fics for BLM. Modern AU. Clarke hates Valentine's Day with a passion, and her best friend Bellamy is out to change her mind. So he plans a date (platonic, of course) to convince her it can be fun.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 152
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	February the Fourteenth

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a Bellarke fic written for 100 fics for BLM. Hope the prompter enjoys it! Huge thanks to Zou for betaing it.
> 
> Content note: brief reference to Lexa's death similar to canon.

**Prompt more fics to support a great cause at<https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/>**

Clarke doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

She’s got nothing against the fourteenth of February, in and of itself. It’s more that she doesn’t believe in everything it stands for. Commercialisation. Romance. Cheesy gifts and overpriced set dinner menus.

Love.

Well of course she doesn’t believe in love. How could she, when Finn betrayed her trust, and Lexa was killed in that freak accident just as Clarke was about to suggest it was time to go their separate ways? The universe is clearly set against her ever having a calm, healthy relationship. She can’t even break up with someone cleanly, for goodness’ sake. Her love life is just one disaster after another.

She thought she was safe with Niylah. They’ve always agreed that they are more friends with benefits than anything else. But then even Niylah had to go and ask Clarke if she fancied hanging out this coming Saturday - _February the fourteenth, no less_ \- and Clarke found herself fleeing from Niylah’s apartment and telling her their arrangement is over.

So here Clarke is, now, pacing the hallway and wondering why the human race is composed entirely of frivolous romantic _fools_.

She doesn’t stop pacing when Bellamy gets home. She doesn’t even look up. He knows what’s happening here. He’s been her roommate for three years and counting, and her best friend for longer still. He knows that she gets antsy when she’s in a bad mood, expresses her frustration through noise and movement. She used to express it by bickering with him, actually, but these days she mostly just paces or rants until he gives her a hug.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I going to order pizza and coax it out of you?” He asks mildly.

“If I tell you what’s wrong can we get pizza anyway?” She counters, brightening.

He just looks at her - firm yet affectionate, somewhat exasperated.

She sighs. He’s right. Everything he is silently telling her is true. Pizza is not a nutritionally complete food. She’ll feel better if they eat what she had planned. And she’ll certainly feel better if she just gets the hell on with telling him what’s wrong.

“Niylah wanted to hang out this Saturday.” She says shortly.

“You hang out with her most Saturdays you're not working anyway.” He points out.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t usually _ask_ . We just hang out. It’s not usually a big deal. She asked like it was a _date_.”

“Of course. She asked like it was a date, and it’s Valentine’s Day.” He sighs, turns aside into the kitchen. “I take it she won’t be coming over again then?”

Clarke frowns. “No.” She says shortly. Why is Bellamy being like this, all sighing and annoyed? Where’s her warm hug?

“Don’t you ever think it might be worth giving Valentine’s Day a chance?” He asks.

She frowns ever harder. Has he lost his mind? He knows her better than to ask such a thing, surely?

“I don’t see why I’d bother.” Clarke says, following him into the kitchen because she doesn’t enjoy talking to empty space. “It’s a stupid holiday -”

“- exploited to make retailers rich. Yes. I know.” He sighs, rubs a hand across his forehead. “But don’t you think the basic idea is _nice_? Underneath all the roses and the pink fluffy bears? Don’t you think it could be good to spend a day showing someone you care about them? Or treating yourself and the people you care about to things they really enjoy?”

She pauses a moment. When he puts it like that, he makes her feel selfish. It’s not her fault she struggles with romantic love, she maintains. But he makes it sound like it could be a beautiful celebration of everything that is good about human nature.

Huh. How is she going to stack that up against all the cliched cards?

“What are you trying to say?” She asks at last.

He takes a loud breath, lets it out as a long sigh. He heaves in yet another breath. Clarke is on the point of asking if he’s feeling quite well, honestly.

But then he speaks, and she wonders whether he really has taken leave of his senses.

“Let me take you on a Valentine’s date.” He offers.

She blanches. She gulps a little. She considers herself quite hard to shock - she’s an ER surgeon, so she doesn’t startle easily. But _this_ ? Bellamy asking her out on a _date_?

He rushes to explain himself further. “I don’t mean like a real date.” He clarifies right away. “I just mean - let me show you it can be a good day. We can hang out just as friends and have a great time. Your perfect Valentine’s Day.”

She nods slowly. Spending some fun, friendly time with Bellamy does sound like her perfect Valentine’s Day, honestly. If he doesn’t mean anything awkwardly romantic by it, she can definitely agree with his plan.

“I don’t see why you need to call it a Valentine’s date.” She mutters. “You could just have said we should hang out. I was hoping we’d spend the evening watching TV together if you don’t have plans.”

“I’ve got more than TV planned. It’s going to be the best Valentine's date of your life.” He says, confident and teasing.

She frowns. She really does hate all that Valentine’s stuff - the hearts and the flowers. He knows that. Then why is he insisting that this will be some grand date? Surely he realises that’s the last thing she would want?

“Are you sure about this?” She asks carefully.

“Yeah. Don’t worry - I’ve got big plans, but they’re big plans you’ll like. We’re leaving here at midday on Saturday. Dress casual.” He recommends firmly.

Hmm. She could get behind this. _Dress casual_ suggests he’s not about to take her to some overpriced restaurant.

She stops overthinking it, then. She stops worrying about anything at all, because Bellamy has stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She’s finally getting that hug she’s been craving since the moment he walked through the front door.

…….

The rest of the week passes by normally, more or less. She and Bellamy cook together, and eat together, and sit to watch TV on the couch together. He never mentions the date at all, which honestly she thinks is a little weird. When two good friends are going on a platonic Valentine’s date together, that’s worthy of discussion, right? That’s the kind of thing that would provoke a fair bit of chat.

But in the end, she’s the one who breaks first. On Thursday, while they’re washing dishes, she turns to him with a carefully-practised question.

“How casual is casual?” She asks.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“For Saturday. How casual should I dress?”

“Oh, right. You know - _casual_. Jeans I guess. Shoes you don’t mind walking a little way in - but we’re not exactly going hiking.”

She nods. That’s the most unhelpful answer of all time, she thinks. All she has gleaned from that is that hiking is ruled out, which was frankly obvious to her anyway. They live in the middle of the city.

But she can’t ask more. If she asks more, she’ll look interested, and curious, and as if she actually gives a damn about this ridiculous Valentine’s Day charade.

She sighs and turns back to washing the dishes.

…….

On Saturday morning, Clarke gets up after Bellamy. She normally does, when she’s not working. He gets to keep reasonably regular hours as a librarian but her schedule is all over the place, so she struggles to wake up before she has to.

She walks out her room to the common areas. Bellamy’s not here - must have gone on a run or hit the gym, she supposes. She wanders into the kitchen, planning to get a glass of juice and decide what to do next.

She stops dead. There’s an enormous chill bag on the kitchen table. A frankly _comically_ big chill bag, zipped shut. And on top of it, a note, written in Bellamy’s familiar handwriting.

_Super secret Valentine’s date stuff. Don’t peek!_

She almost looks inside. She’s so close to opening the zipper, because she’s always been a curious sort of woman. But she stops herself. Bellamy has put a lot of effort into this afternoon’s date, it looks like. It wouldn’t be right to ruin that for him by spoiling the surprise. She doesn’t want to hurt him when this is clearly important to him.

That’s a dangerous thought that catches her by surprise.

She brushes it away. She concentrates, instead, on how mad she is at the sheer scale of this chill bag. She supposes it’s full of chocolate covered strawberries or some shit. As it happens, she loves both chocolate and strawberries. But she doesn’t want Bellamy wasting his money on commercial cons.

Just for a moment, she wonders how she will react if this bag _is_ full of silly seasonal sweets. What if he tries to _feed her_ some strawberries? They didn’t discuss things like that. Will the date include coupley behaviour? No. He did say it would be strictly as friends, that he just wanted to show her she could have a good time on February fourteenth.

She has nothing to worry about. She’s safe with Bellamy.

…….

At midday, Clarke presents herself in the living room. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, planning to take the coat that hangs by the front door, too. And she’s got a neat, practical purse over her shoulder. She’s the very image of _casual_.

It took her half an hour to choose this outfit, but she’s trying not to dwell on that.

She’s got the dress code right, it seems. Bellamy is in jeans and a sweater too. But he’s also wearing his glasses rather than contacts, she notes. That’s a useful detail. That means they’re not doing some kind of sporting activity where contacts would be more practical - instead he wants to be able to see better as he can in glasses.

Right. No. She should stop overthinking this. She just needs to relax and let the afternoon unfold. Bellamy promised her fun, and so she is determined to enjoy herself.

“Ready to go?” He asks her brightly.

“Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.” She jokes.

He grins, pats her lightly on the shoulder. She’s not sure whether that’s supposed to be more encouraging or patronising. Either way, it’s Bellamy being the same comfortable, platonic friend he always is, and it cheers her up immensely.

She leads the way to the door, opens it and grabs her coat. Bellamy follows behind, and she notes that he is carrying a decent-sized bag.

“So you’re going first even though you don’t know where we’re going?” He asks, smirking.

She laughs. “I always go first.” It’s true, more or less.

“We’re heading for the park to start out.” He takes pity and tells her.

She nods. This will be OK. She can deal with this. The park is a harmless sort of place - in daylight, at least. There are ducks and swings and a small pond. She can manage a visit to the park. She wouldn’t say it will necessarily be the most exciting Valentine’s date in history, but at least it will be comfortable.

With that in mind, she heads for the park, and they chat about nothing in particular while they walk. It isn’t until they arrive that she realises Bellamy has brought the excitement with him.

“Pick a bench by the pond.” He says, pointing. “We’re having brunch.”

“Brunch?” She asks, intrigued.

“Brunch. _Boozy_ brunch with a lakeside view.” He teases, nodding at the pond. “But without frills or hearts or truffle oil in your overpriced scrambled eggs.”

She grins. A no-frills boozy brunch does sound quite fun, actually. And it’s ages since she had a picnic with Bellamy, just the two of them. She thinks that the park maybe isn’t the most thrilling location but there’s something about the dorky humour of him insisting that this pond counts as a _lakeside view_ that warms her heart all the same.

She sits on her chosen bench. She turns to look at him, brows raised expectantly, as he sits himself down at her side. He opens that large bag, faffs for a moment with his back angled so she can’t see. And then, of all things, he presents her with a waffle on a paper napkin. And atop that waffle is a small mountain of strawberries and chocolate sauce.

Huh. Looks like he didn’t buy those stupid overpriced pre-prepared strawberries, after all.

“This is my kind of brunch.” She comments lightly, taking a large and probably undignified bite of waffle. What does it matter? This is _Bellamy_. The greatest benefit, she thinks, of going on a Valentine’s date with her best friend is that he will not care how messily she chews.

“And here’s the booze.” He adds, taking a small bottle of rose from the bag and placing it between them.

Then it gets better. Then it turns out he’s even brought stupid plastic wineglasses, as he divides the small amount of wine between them. He’s such a dork, and she loves him for it. She loves him in that safe, warm, comfortable way that she can love him because he is simply her best friend - not in that awful romantic way that has anything to do with Valentine’s Day.

“It’s not exactly a _bottomless_ boozy brunch, is it?” She asks pointedly, brows raised at the pitiful half-glass of wine.

“Didn’t want you getting too tipsy. We’ve got a big afternoon ahead of us.” He points out.

She nods, intrigued. She takes her glass and raises it to his in a toast, washes down her latest bite of waffle with the wine. As improvised brunches by grey ponds go, she thinks this is a pretty great one, actually.

Bellamy leans back on the bench, starts digging into his own brunch. He looks good, Clarke permits herself to notice in an abstract sort of way. Handsome and happy, all at once. He’s one of those people God simply gifted with a beautiful smile, and he’s wearing it right now. Not that she’s noticing that because he’s attractive, of course - she’s just happy to see her best friend having a good time.

“What is it?” He asks, catching her gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She catches herself staring, fixes her eyes firmly on her waffle instead. “Nothing. Just - I want you to have a good time today as well.”

“I _am_ having a good time today.” He insists firmly. “I’d rather spend the day with you than with some guy or girl I’ve picked up at a bar and then texted twice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, takes another gulp of wine before continuing in a more carefully light voice, she thinks. “Anyway, it’s a pretty good brunch.”

“It’s great. You know strawberries and chocolate are my favourite.” She says easily.

“Yeah. And the whole picnic thing is pretty fun, right?” He asks, as if just a hint insecure.

“It’s perfect. No frills.” She agrees.

He grins. “And it actually kind of reminds me of that first night we spent in our apartment eating Chinese food on the floor among the moving boxes.” He offers.

She nods. She thinks of him as the more inherently sentimental out of the two of them, but she certainly has a lot of nostalgic happy memories of that night, too. “Do you remember when you found that fork in one of the boxes?” She asks him now, teasing.

“Will you let that go?” He asks, mock exasperated. “I was proud of myself, OK?”

“It was a _fork_ , Bellamy. You were acting like it was some huge victory, like you were some saviour finding guns in the middle of an apocalypse or something.”

“It felt like an achievement at the time.” He says around a laugh.

“And then the take out came with chopsticks anyway.” She remembers, shaking her head, still giggling.

“Whatever. I still think it was worth the half hour I spent looking for that fork.” He insists, stubborn to the last.

“You’re too dedicated.” She says softly. “Anyone else would have given up after three minutes.”

“I can be very persistent.” He says. But he doesn’t say it proudly, or even as if he’s joking. He sounds almost _sad_ , she thinks.

That’s why she moves the conversation on. She really is enjoying this date, so far, and she wants him to enjoy it too.

“So this is a great _lakeside view_.” She offers, bright and teasing.

“Finest Arkadia has to offer.” He jokes, apparently regaining his good mood. “And the ducks are very friendly.”

Yes. They’re so friendly Clarke would almost call them _overfriendly_ , in fact. They keep quacking ever closer while she enjoys her waffle, as if hoping some stray crumbs might fall their way.

All the same, it’s a pleasant brunch. There is something about it that Clarke thinks is typical of her and Bellamy - the make-do-and-mend approach to happiness, where they can enjoy each other’s company as well on a park bench with ducks as they would at a more fancy occasion - or even better. That’s what she loves about their friendship, really. That they bring out the best in each other and have a good time no matter what’s going on around them.

They sit and eat and chat for a while. A long time, in fact - the waffles are long gone and Clarke’s butt is starting to go numb from the park bench by the time Bellamy looks at his watch and stands up decisively.

“We have to get going. We don’t want to be late for the next part.” He tells her.

Clarke smiles at him fondly. She’s usually the one who plans the schedule, out of the two of them. If they go on a day trip as friends she is the one in charge of the itinerary. There’s something kind of lovely about sitting back and letting Bellamy run things for a change. Turns out he’s pretty damn competent at it - maybe it would be good for both of them if he called the shots more often. She could do with a little less stress in her life, and she always thinks that he could use a little more confidence, underneath that mask of arrogance he sometimes wears.

“You going to tell me what the next part is or do I have to wait and be surprised when we arrive?”

“We’re heading for the art gallery.” He tells her.

She nods. That’s not surprising. He knows she loves art. She wonders in passing whether there are any tickets left for this afternoon for that new exhibition of the human form that opened at the gallery last week. She’s been meaning to go to that just as soon as she has an afternoon free. But would it be cheeky to suggest to Bellamy they try to fit that in when he’s put all this effort into the date? Would it -

“You’re not going to ask more about the art gallery?” He prompts her, looking almost a little disappointed.

She shrugs. “I like the art gallery. You know that - we’ve been there before.”

“Yeah. But they’ve got some new exhibition on. _The human form through the ages_ , all about portraits and that. Seemed like your kind of thing.”

Wow. Oh wow. Bellamy knows her well - she didn’t ought to be surprised by this, perhaps. But it’s made her day all the same.

“You got tickets?” She asks him, excitement bubbling in her voice. “How much do I owe you for them?”

He frowns, jaw tight. “Nothing. I asked for this date. I’m paying for it. You can get the bill next time we hang out.” He mutters.

She nods. That makes sense. She can deal with that. She starts leading the way to the art gallery at pace.

“Woah, Clarke.” He slows her with a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t get in until one-thirty. That’s when are tickets are. No point rushing.”

She pouts. “But I want to be there promptly.”

He laughs. “Of course you do. Come on, slow down a little and tell me what you’re looking forward to in this exhibition.”

Well, now. That’s an invitation she cannot refuse. She starts with the changing fashions in human figures, then loops back around to a discussion of genre and medium. And along the way Bellamy points out that _through the ages_ means there will be history to get excited about, too, and starts telling her something about Athenian vases. Honestly, she’s not that fascinated by Athenian vases. But Bellamy is, and he’s her best friend, and he’s just made her day with these tickets - or possibly her _month_ \- so she keeps quiet and lets him have his moment.

They arrive at the gallery early. That’s perhaps no surprise - even with Bellamy’s warning not to rush, Clarke still couldn’t resist walking here at top speed.

“We should go look at the regular exhibits while we’re waiting.” She suggests.

“We have the rest of the afternoon to do that.” Bellamy counters. “After the exhibition I plan for us to hang out here until closing.”

She smiles. She likes that. Art galleries are good places to simply hang out, in her experience. There is always something new to discover, each time she looks upon a familiar artwork.

But the point is, this means they have seven minutes spare. Now if this were a normal date - a romantic one - Clarke supposes she would spend it making out with Bellamy. That’s what you do, if you’re sappy and in love, right? You snog on street corners or in the queue for art exhibitions and make everyone around you uncomfortable, or jealous, or both.

As it is, this is not a romantic date. So that option is clearly out of the question. Should they just get in the queue early and chat? Will Bellamy be bored by standing around and chatting with her?

What a ridiculous thought. He’s _Bellamy_ . He’s not going to say no to killing time with her for a couple of minutes. She really has let this _date_ rubbish go to her head, she fears. There is no reason for her to act any differently from normal.

“Want to get in the queue and people watch?” She asks brightly.

“Want to get in the queue and continue comparing different periods of Athenian art?” He counters.

She laughs, smacks him lightly in the chest. “Come on.” She takes his hand, drags him to the queue for the exhibition.

Only then she realises what she’s done. She realises their fingers are still tangled together, that it’s _Valentine’s Day_ , that they’re on a date and she’s holding his hand.

Crap. This is exactly what she feared would happen. She can’t act like this with _Bellamy_ . He’s her friend - platonic and not at all romantic. _Safe_. She cannot afford to make a mess of that by doing silly things like taking his hand on Valentine’s dates.

She drops his hand at once, stuffs hers in her pocket. Why did holding his hand have to feel _good_? That’s just unfair, she thinks. If he had clammy palms it would be easy to move on from this idiotic mistake. But his hands were warm yet dry, bigger than hers in this reassuring kind of way that made her feel safe. And he was squeezing her fingers in turn, she’s pretty sure - an observation which is now doing dangerous things to her insides.

She doesn’t have to freak out for long. The security guard on the door is evidently in a good mood, tells them that rather than queuing they can head into the exhibition a little early.

“You OK?” Bellamy asks, as she tries to collect her thoughts.

“Yeah. Great. Just really excited.” She says brightly. It’s not entirely a lie. She _is_ excited. But striding over to the first panel, focussing carefully on a Titian which has been juxtaposed with a copy of some Egyptian carving, is a most convenient way to avoid acknowledging the awkwardness she is feeling.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be like this.” Bellamy says.

Clarke freezes. Has he noticed her odd behaviour? Is he freaked out? That’s one of the reasons why she’s taken such care not to act on the fact he’s so effortlessly attractive, all these years.

“You weren’t?”

“No. The way they’re presenting ancient and modern art alongside each other to make links across the eras. I was expecting it to be more of a journey through different time periods.” He says lightly.

Oh. Oh, right. He’s talking about the _exhibition_ , not the date itself.

“This is actually quite fashionable in curation at the moment.” Clarke hopes her voice sounds steady.

“Yeah. I’m starting to realise that. I went to an exhibition about ancient myths a couple years ago that was a bit like this. Greek and Roman stuff, all different periods presented alongside each other by themes.”

She nods. This is comfortable, familiar. She can do this. Chatting with Bellamy about their interests is normal and good.

With that, she resolves to shake off her awkwardness and enjoy the art.

She manages it, more or less. They have a good time - at least, she _thinks_ they do. She certainly enjoys herself, and Bellamy seems perky enough. She’s honestly not sure why, because the majority of this art is from historical periods he has very little interest in. From his point of view, she suspects it just looks like a lot of naked women in different styles. But he genuinely seems to be having a great time, asking her loads of questions, and she thinks she would be able to tell if he were only acting.

When they have seen everything there is to see in the exhibition - and then broken the one way system to pop back to a couple of the pieces Clarke liked the most and cannot quite bear to part with - they head to the rest of the gallery. These artworks are mostly familiar, like old friends. Clarke comes here at least once most years. She’s even come here with Bellamy a couple of times before now, but there is something about it that feels fresh and interesting, today.

She cannot quite figure out what. Is it because they split that wine earlier? No, that was a tiny amount of alcohol and several hours ago, now. Is it because it is Valentine’s Day, so the only people in the gallery are die-hard art fans while everyone else is off on their cheesy dates? Must be that, she figures. It’s because the place is pretty quiet and she and Bellamy can chatter away about the exhibits without feeling self-conscious.

The afternoon has more or less turned to evening when Bellamy starts leading Clarke toward the exit.

“We don’t have to go yet.” She says, petulant like a child. “We have ten minutes until closing. We can go back to -”

“We’re going to the gift shop.” He informs her smartly.

She gapes at him, stunned. _The gift shop_? Did he not hear her, all those hundreds of times she declared that gifts are her least favourite thing about this damn day?

“Don’t look at me like that.” He says mildly. “It’s not a Valentine’s gift. It’s not some pink fluffy heart pillow or whatever. But I’m getting you the guidebook of the exhibition because I want you to be able to look at it again whenever you want.” He insists.

She frowns. “It’s ages until my birthday. And a while since Christmas. So this _would be_ a Valentine’s gift, which is why I’m saying no.”

“You’re telling me you _don’t_ want the guidebook?” He presses, brows raised in challenge.

She swallows. She does want the guidebook. It was a great exhibition. And the company was even better, so she’s in danger of getting all sentimental and thinking it might be quite nice to have something to remember the day by, or some such crap.

Damn it. What the hell is happening to her?

He takes her silent for the admission of defeat it is. “Next time we hang out, when you’re paying, you can always get me back.” He points out.

She nods. That’s what she’ll do. She’ll get him back by spoiling him _stupid_ , and then he’ll be sorry. He always does hate to have people spend money on him. It’s that selfless big brother complex of his, she thinks affectionately.

They leave ten minutes later, Clarke hugging her precious guidebook to her chest. She knows she looks like an overexcited small child. But that’s because, in this moment, she honestly does _feel_ like an overexcited small child for the first time in quite some years.

She decides that Bellamy deserves to know at least some of that.

“Thank you.” She tells him, firm and heartfelt. “This has been great. Best day I’ve had in ages. I guess some quality time with my best friend was exactly what I needed.”

He nods, with a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

She wonders what’s wrong with him, fishes for words. “I mean it. I can’t imagine a better way to spend this awful day than hanging out with you.”

He nods again, smiling a little more honestly this time, she thinks.

How odd. Should she ask him about it? Or should she just press on with this wonderful celebration of their friendship?

Strangely enough, she opts for the second. She’s getting pretty enthusiastic about this Valentine’s date idea, now. She’s only worried about what he has planned for dinner. Based on the casual clothes, presumably it’s not anything fancy.

Oh. A sad thought hits her, all at once. What if he has _nothing_ planned? What if that was the date? That would make sense, she thinks. A meal and an activity - an entire afternoon, in fact.

But she really doesn’t want it to be over.

“What happens now?” She asks, carefully light, as they walk side by side and she keeps hugging her guidebook.

“We head back to our place.” He says simply.

Right. Yes. So this date is over. She can deal with that, can push aside her disappointment. She should start making plans for when they next hang out together, perhaps. He has been saying all day that she can pay next time they make plans, and she plans to take him up on that sooner rather than later.

“We’re making pizza.” Bellamy says now.

Clarke starts, almost drops her precious gift. Is making pizza part of the date? Is it not over yet after all? “We are?”

“Yeah. Thought you’d prefer that to eating out on Valentine’s.” He offers, grinning across at her. “We’re cheating a bit - I bought pizza bases already made. But I bought toppings so you can do all the arty shit.”

“ _Arty shit_?” She asks him, laughing.

“Yeah, you know. Arrange your pepperoni in the shape of a seventeenth century nude or whatever.”

She laughs harder. She’s pretty certain it’s not the funniest thing Bellamy has ever said, but in this moment she cannot stop giggling. Must be the sheer relief, she decides, and the overwhelming happiness of finding out their Valentine’s Day is not over after all.

Crap. He really does seem to have convinced her it’s not the worst day, doesn’t he?

She pushes that thought aside. This is not a moment for thinking too hard - she thinks that’s why she’s had such a great day, actually. Bellamy just has this magical way of coaxing her out of her own head. So it is that she keeps smiling and they walk down the street side by side, chatting about art and pizza and sometimes about nothing at all.

By the time they arrive home, Clarke is beginning to wonder whey she ever spends her precious Saturdays off with anyone else. Bellamy is way more fun than Niylah, or that guy Cillian she hooked up with a couple of times. He brings out the best in her, truly. She’d much rather spend the day with him, even if it means resigning herself to an orgasm with her vibrator later that night rather than with a partner. That’s really the only thing those other dates have going for them over Bellamy, she thinks - and when she looks at it like that, it’s no contest at all. Sex with Cillian wasn’t even that great.

An annoying little voice in her mind chooses this exact moment to point out that Bellamy is perfectly sexually competent. Confident, even, and almost _talented_ if the smug expressions of the partners he occasionally brings home are anything to go by. It’s the worst possible moment for this revelation. They’re on the doorstep, about to enter the apartment they share. Bellamy is unlocking the door. Any moment now they’re going to walk into the privacy of their home, and Clarke has chosen _this exact second_ to notice that it would be logistically possible to have an orgasm with Bellamy.

Wow. She really is crap at Valentine’s Day.

She tries to brush the thought off. Bellamy is off-limits. He’s her best friend, and not a romantic option. That’s why he’s so safe and comfortable. That’s why today has been such pure, uncomplicated fun.

And yet, that stupid idea lingers.

She forces herself to march past Bellamy, to take off her coat, to put down her gift, to head for the kitchen.

“So where are these pizza bases?” She asks brightly.

He doesn’t comment on her odd behaviour, her jerky movements. His eyes are just slightly narrowed as he approaches that enormous chill bag and pulls out a pair of pizza bases.

A pair of _heart-shaped_ pizza bases.

Clarke can’t say anything. She is honestly incapable of speech for a full five seconds. Bellamy Blake - safe, platonic Bellamy Blake - is standing in their shared kitchen waving a heart-shaped pizza base at her. How the hell is she supposed to respond to that?

He clears his throat loudly. “I did promise you a _Valentine’s_ date.” He says, carefully light. “Had to get the stupid heart-shaped ones.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” She tries for a smile. “Did you get heart-shaped pepperoni too?”

He laughs stiffly. “No. Just regular. Believe me, if they had heart-shaped pepperoni I’d have got that too.”

She laughs. She figures she is supposed to. She’s a little annoyed with Bellamy, honestly, for creating this awkward moment in the middle of their lovely Valentine’s Day. But she decides not to hold it against him. She loves him, after all.

She loves him, but not in a _heart-shaped food_ kind of way.

“I’m sorry. I thought they’d be funny. Like the wine and the plastic cups.” He mutters.

Oh. Yes. That makes a lot of sense - she can see that now. Heart-shaped pizza with a best friend is a bit like Valentine’s special rose out of plastic cups. But it feels different to Clarke, somehow.

It feels different, because _she’s_ different. Because since their brunch she has allowed herself to truly loosen up and enjoy the day. Because meanwhile she’s had a bunch of unhelpful thoughts about snogging Bellamy in line or even _sleeping_ with him.

It feels different, because she has allowed the lines to blur.

She mumbles a few words back to him, gets started on topping her pizza. It doesn’t matter, she decides. It doesn’t matter if she has silly romantic thoughts about Bellamy because he has no silly romantic thoughts about her. Sure, this wonderful day has opened up a whole can of worms she didn’t even realise _existed_. But Bellamy means nothing by it, is just being a good friend, so it simply doesn’t matter.

They could be good together, she finds herself thinking all the same. They already _are_ good together, but maybe they could be good together in a relationship, too. Maybe that’s where she’s been going wrong - picking partners she barely knows based on attraction alone, rather than allowing herself to get to know them first. Maybe she’s been naive, thinking that platonic and romantic love are such separate things.

Maybe she doesn’t believe in romance, because she’s been doing romance _wrong_.

No. She can’t dwell on this. Bellamy isn’t interested. He’s her good friend, and they’re having pizza together, and that’s final.

“Pizza isn’t a nutritionally complete food.” She says, more for something to say than because she actually cares. She’s in the midst of something of a personal crisis, here - she’s not honestly that bothered about her fibre intake.

“That’s why there’s salad to serve with it.” Bellamy says, eyes narrowed at her in confusion.

She doesn’t blame him for looking at her like that. She feels both confused and confusing, in this moment.

She takes a deep breath, tries to get herself back in order. What happened to her friendship with Bellamy being calm and reliable and _safe_? She feels out of control, here, and she doesn’t like it.

Another deep breath. She’s got this. She can steer things back to familiar territory - competitive banter, perhaps.

“Sorry. I’m just preparing to admit defeat.” She says, trying for a teasing tone. “I have to say today has been great.”

“You don’t have to hand me the victory yet. It’s not over. We still have to eat our pizza and watch _Grey’s Anatomy_.” He bounces back at her. A quiet night in front of her favourite show. He’s really not making her crisis any easier, here.

“Sounds perfect. Honestly, everything about today has been perfect.” She admits. “You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with Valentine’s Day.” _There’s something wrong with me_ , she thinks to herself instead.

He doesn’t hear that, of course. He simply hears her praise and grins broadly. “Of course it was perfect. I’ve been planning the perfect date for you for _years_.”

Clarke freezes, stock still, half way through ripping into a bag of mozzarella. Her swift mind races back over everything that has happened, here - Bellamy offering a date, only later clarifying that he meant as friends. Bellamy holding onto her hand when she reached out for it earlier. Bellamy buying food in the shape of _hearts_.

Bellamy spending the last five years hugging her and laughing with her and supporting her, come hell or high water.

She sets down the mozzarella, deliberate and careful. She turns to look at Bellamy, takes in everything from his warm smile to his nervous eyes.

Yes. She believes she has reached a sound conclusion, here.

She steps up, wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him soundly.

He stays still, just for a second. Just long enough to have Clarke wondering whether she has ruined their friendship, whether she has totally misinterpreted five years of clues. But then all at once he catches up with her, relaxing into her arms, sighing right into her mouth. He kisses her urgently, hands coming up to rest on her waist, and it feels warm and protective and _good_.

She really has been doing romance wrong all these years, it turns out. Kissing her beautiful best friend is quite simply _awesome_ . She knows him so well, from years of hugging, from memorising a perfect map of his face. She feels utterly comfortable with him, confident because she knows he does not have a secret girlfriend living a state away. It’s sexy but it feels _safe_ , too. And it turns out maybe that’s just what she needed after a lifetime of being stung by love.

She takes his glasses off, even as they keep kissing. That’s just something she really wants to do, in this moment. Something that feels warm and domestic and personal. _Intimate_ , she supposes. She sets them down on the counter nearby without breaking the kiss, then gets her arms around him once more.

She doesn’t know where they go from here. She doesn’t know whether they hop into bed and hope for the best, whether they need to sit down and talk about what the hell is happening. All she knows is that, with Bellamy, she will most definitely enjoy the ride.

He pulls back from the kiss, looks her right in the eyes. He’s grinning broadly but he looks slightly anxious, too, she thinks.

“Clarke - I have to -” He pauses, squeezes her tight into a hug. “I have to tell you that this is serious for me. I can’t - if this is just some passing thing -”

Her heart breaks for him, shatters into pieces which skid away across the tiled kitchen floor. He’s spent his whole life fearing he loves his sister and mother more than they love him. She knows that, because she’s his best friend. And she’s watched him take a similar insecurity to his love life, realised that’s why he goes for casual one night stands with no risk of getting attached.

She never realised she has spent years feeding into that insecurity, too.

“It’s serious for me too.” She tells him honestly. “I know I’m only just catching up with you. But you’re important to me and I won’t do anything to hurt you.” She says firmly.

He nods. He smiles a little more confidently. And then he bends back down to catch her lips in a searing kiss.

Clarke kisses him back, mind already leaping ahead. Even at her most blissfully happy, she cannot help thinking too hard. Should she sit on the kitchen counter, ask him if he wants to fuck her here and now? Or does she want something slower and more careful and tender the first time - and if so, his room or hers?

“Just relax.” He whispers, pulling away from the kiss and pecking softly down her neck instead. “I’ve got you, Clarke. I know you’re scared, baby. But this time it’s not going wrong. I won’t let that happen.” He tells her, firm.

She believes him. A lifetime of disasters in love, and she believes him. He’s _Bellamy_ \- she’d trust him with her life, and now it seems it’s time to trust him with her heart, too.

“I’m OK.” She tells him, and it’s more or less the truth. “I want this. I want _you_.”

He doesn’t make her ask twice. He scoops her up in his arms, and she fastens her legs around his waist on instinct.

“We’re heading to my room.” He tells her. “I’ve got a few plans for this part, too.”

She doesn’t argue. She goes with it. There’s something lovely about him taking control, here. He’s got a plan, and she trusts him. If he takes the lead, then nothing can possibly go wrong.

She likes having him carry her to his room. It makes her feel _wanted_ , sexy and secure at the same time. She kisses him as best as she can while he moves, sloppy but heartfelt.

It isn’t until they reach his bedroom and he deposits her on the mattress that she realises they have a problem.

“I’m not wearing the cutest underwear.” She says. It’s an understatement. She’s wearing a faded pink bra, lacey but tired. And the panties don’t match at all, but are comfortable. She wasn’t expecting sex on this platonic first date, was she?

“Me neither.” Bellamy says lightly. “We’ll get over it. You can dress up for me another time.” He offers.

“I’d like that.” She’s already convinced of it, even though they’ve barely got started.

He grins. He presses one last kiss to her lips. And then all at once he’s unbuckling her jeans and pulling both them and her panties clean down her legs. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’s waited years for this - she knows that now. So she relaxes and waits for him to do what he will.

He gets his mouth on her, urgent but not _rushed_ , somehow. He takes it steady, coaxing her along. She lies back and feels the pleasure washing over her, feels her breath start to catch in her chest.

She also reaches out to tangle her hand in his hair. She just can’t resist. She’s been finding his hair attractive in a detached, platonic sort of way for years. And now she’s admitting to herself that she has more than those friendly feelings for him, she figures it’s time to tug at his hair to her heart’s content.

She comes quickly - not so quickly that she’s had no fun at all, but quick enough that she doesn’t feel totally satisfied. In a good way, though. Unsatisfied as in she’s still in the mood to have plenty more fun today.

Bellamy pulls away, looks up at her with a grin. His mouth is wet, slick from her pussy, and she cannot resist sitting up and reaching for him, kissing him soundly. He tastes tangy and his lips slide over hers, warm and wet, leaving her wanting more.

“We need to get our shoes off.” She suggests hurriedly.

He laughs. “Of course. The shoes are bothering you. Can’t possibly make love in _shoes_.” He teases.

She grins. She likes that they can still be themselves in bed. But, for the record, she really does think this will work better if they are both naked and resoundingly _shoeless_.

She kicks her shoes off, hears them land somewhere on Bellamy’s bedroom floor. For all his teasing, he does likewise, and starts frantically tugging her clothes off as well. She joins in, and it makes for the most glorious mess, arms and hands tangling together. She elbows Bellamy in the armpit at one point, sets them both off laughing together all over again.

Honestly, they should have done this _years_ ago. She knows she was scared and all, that she had her reasons for running from love. But now she’s here she cannot help but think she’s been something of a fool.

They get each other naked, sit there grinning broadly at each other for a moment. Bellamy grabs a condom, rolls it down over his cock while she tries not to stare. And then all at once he is pushing her back onto the mattress, stretching her hands out over his head and holding them down.

“Is this OK?” He asks, hovering over. “If it’s too much for the first time we can -”

“It’s perfect.” She assures him. “I like it when you hold me.”

She’s known for years that she likes it when he holds her tight in a hug. But here and now, today, February the damn fourteenth, she learns that she likes it when he holds her down in bed, too.

He wastes no time. He eases his cock into place, almost effortlessly. Clarke isn’t sure whether he’s just that experienced and confident in bed or whether perhaps their bodies simply fit together perfectly

No. That’s a silly, sentimental thought.

But all the same, she has to admit this is damn good. There’s kissing, hot and eager, messy enough to be pleasantly frantic but tidy enough to be stimulating, too. There are Bellamy’s hands on her wrists, holding her down as well as making her feel safe and solid. And there’s his cock, sliding in and out of her with increasing urgency as her hips buck up to meet him in turn.

“Feels so good.” She tells him.

She feels him smile into the kiss, move a little faster.

“So good.” She repeats. “It’s perfect.”

He groans into her mouth, and she can virtually taste his eagerness - as well as her own aftertaste still sharp on his lips.

She can feel pleasure building quickly now, can feel herself starting to shake with the oncoming orgasm. But it’s not just her legs trembling today. No, she can even feel her eyelids flickering and her fingers starting to twitch against the bedsheets.

She comes hard, a long, hot wave of pleasure. She’s not in the business of ranking orgasms, because sex is about the journey not the destination. But as it happens, this is one of the biggest she has known.

Five years of repressed and resolutely ignored sexual tension will do that to a girl.

Bellamy’s still going. Clarke doesn’t mind that - she’s more than happy to stay here and feel the last aftershocks for as long as it takes. And if he keeps this up, maybe she’ll even get a third round. Either way, after unwittingly keeping him waiting all these years she’s more than happy to wait for him, now.

“That was great.” She gasps, still breathless. “Still feels good. It’s so good, Bellamy.”

He grunts loudly, something that sounds like it might have been her name, maybe. Then a random string of _yeah_ and _fuck_ and _ah_ , and he’s there, hips shuddering against hers and then his head tumbling to rest against her neck.

There is perfect silence, marred only by the sound of their blissed-out breathing. Clarke still has her hands outstretched, but she’s not complaining. As Bellamy’s grip softens she wiggles until she’s holding his hands, instead of being held down.

“So that happened.” She says, cautious, but wanting to talk about it. She wants to ensure it will happen _again_ , apart from anything else.

“It did.” He agrees, squeezing her fingers.

“Better late than never?” She asks hopefully.

He barks out a short laugh, rolls off her. She’s sad to let go of his hands but he makes up for it by pulling her in for a hug instead. The practical side of her thinks he should probably take the condom off sooner rather than later, but the romantic side wants to stay put - and she has certainly discovered that her romantic side is rather more powerful than she thought it was, today.

“I meant it earlier when I said I’m serious about us.” She tells him. She senses she will need to be the one to say it first.

“Yeah. I meant it too.” He swallows loudly. “Clarke, I -”

“No. Not yet.” She stops him with a finger on his lips, because she knows exactly what he was about to say.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He tells her, obviously hurt.

“But I _want_ to.” She says firmly. “Don’t you see? I don’t want you to say it when I’m not ready to say it back. That doesn’t feel fair on you. You’re - you’re really important to me, and I want us to be on the same page.”

He simply nods. He presses a kiss to her lips, sits up to take care of the condom.

She stares at him as he moves. She can’t help it. He’s _stunning_ , and she’s allowed to stare at him now after years of thinking it wouldn’t be right to allow herself that. It’s a funny business, she muses, falling for her best friend. He’s the most important person in her world and has been for a long time, but now he’s the person in her _bed_ , too.

That’s when she realises her mistake. That’s when her head at last catches up with what her heart has known for a while now.

That’s love, isn’t it?

Love is when your world revolves around someone, and you want it that way. Love is when their company puts a smile on your face no matter what. Love is challenging, yes, but comforting with it. And most of all love is safety and that feeling of home.

No matter what word they have been using for it all these years - friends or roommates or now partners, she supposes - she loves Bellamy Blake, and it’s as simple as that.

She swallows. He’s really fucked up her worldview today, for what it’s worth. He’s turned everything she thought she knew totally on its head, and she’s a control freak, so she’s not quite settled again yet.

But she has to admit, he’s fucked it up in the most beautiful way.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.” She mutters, eyes fixed on the pillow at her side. “God, this is stupid. _I’m_ stupid. But this is love, isn’t it? I love you. I guess I’m only just figuring out what love is.”

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t what you had going with Finn.” Bellamy jokes tiredly.

She smiles at him, a little wobbly, but a lot happy.

“I love you too.” He says, exasperated, coming back to kiss her on the forehead. “In case that wasn’t obvious. Apparently it wasn’t, seeing as you’ve only just noticed.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“You’re great at it.” He tells her firmly. “It’s OK if it takes you a while to figure it out. You’ve had a tough ride. I’ll stick around while you’re working on it.”

She kisses him for that. Not a heated kiss like they shared earlier. But a soft, tender kiss. A comfort kiss more than anything.

They break apart after a while, smiling and relaxed - or at least, _Clarke_ feels pretty relaxed. She’s surprised by that. Maybe it’s OK if she’s still figuring out this whole romance thing, if Bellamy will be with her every step of the way.

“You want to finish with the pizza toppings now?” Bellamy asks brightly.

“Yeah. Someone interrupted me.” She teases.

“It was a good interruption.” He argues.

“The best. But I’m hungry.”

He nods. “You put the pizzas in the oven and I’ll get the TV ready?”

Now that, she thinks, is a gift from the heavens. Because if Bellamy is going to be occupied in the living room with loading up Grey's Anatomy, it strikes her that she has the chance to try something without him there to mock her.

She thinks it’s about time she tried cutting pepperoni into little heart shapes.

It’s silly, she decides, as she trims the pepperoni into shape for his pizza and puts the offcuts on her own. It’s a pointless, futile, _foolish_ gesture. Cutting his pepperoni into stupid heart shapes will not make up for years of obliviousness and unwittingly leaving him hanging. Nor will it make up for the fact she’s difficult to love, tricky to get close to, has something of a fear of emotional entanglements.

But it will show him she wants to do better, she hopes. It will show him that she’s ready to celebrate love, as long as he doesn’t actually push any pink fluffy bears into her arms.

She finishes trimming her pepperoni just in time. She has barely shoved the pizzas in the oven when Bellamy strolls back into the kitchen.

“TV’s ready when we are. You want to start watching the show while the pizzas cook or you want oral on the kitchen counter?”

She laughs. “Tough choice. You’re spoiling me.”

“Of course I am. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“I still hate Valentine’s Day, for the record.” Clarke insists, perhaps half-joking. “I don’t feel like we’ve done Valentine’s Day. We didn’t do flowers and cards and all that crap. We’ve just had a pretty normal Saturday - only the best version of it.”

“We could have Saturday like this every time you get the day off.” He suggests.

“Yeah. That’s the plan.” She agrees.

“Great. And babe?”

“Yes?” She tries to ignore the flush creeping up her neck. She really does love it when he calls her that, it turns out.

“Next time you try to surprise me with heart-shaped food, try not to leave evidence on the counter.” He teases, flicking a stray piece of pepperoni in her general direction.

Damn it. She thought she got it all. She thought she was going to wow him with the perfect romantic surprise, some smaller version of the perfect day he planned for her today.

Screw it. Sod the surprise. She thinks they have had enough surprises for one day.

It is time, instead, for another heartfelt kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
